


Hope That I Make it Home by Wednesday

by Loz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bodyguard, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: Scott’s sitting on the bathroom floor when he receives the texts from his main handler that he’s going to be given a live-in bodyguard. He reads the second message several times.Expect at 8. Codeword: Alpha.Scott's in witness protection. Stiles is the FBI agent assigned as his bodyguard.





	Hope That I Make it Home by Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear." The title is from Magic City by Gorillaz.

Scott’s sitting on the bathroom floor when he receives the texts from his main handler that he’s going to be given a live-in bodyguard. He reads the second message several times. 

**Expect at 8. Codeword: Alpha.**

He shouldn’t have told them he thought he’d been followed at the grocery store. But, well, he thought he’d been followed. 

This space he’s carved out for himself over the past week, that he’s resigned himself to, is going to get invaded. Scott’s need for companionship wars with his need to protect himself.

At 8, there’s the sound of the front door opening, key sliding effortlessly in the locks. Scott’s in the kitchen, brandishing two knives. It’s not paranoia if there have already been four attempts on your life. 

The guy - Scott really hopes he’s the new bodyguard - is lanky and, surprisingly, only about Scott’s age, maybe even younger. He has brown eyes and short brown hair and he nods when he assesses Scott and the stance he’s holding.

“Good call, Alpha,” he says. “This job is going to be so much smoother if we’re both watching your back. I’m Stiles, by the way.”

Scott raises an eyebrow. “Stiles.” He doesn’t say ‘nice to meet you’, like he would have, way back when. He does put the knives back where they belong. “You want something to drink?”

“Coffee please,” Stiles replies, gait becoming more relaxed. “I requisitioned us a Keurig especially. You’re welcome.”

“You knew you’d be sent here?”

“It was always a possibility, yeah. Which reminds me – Scott Delgado, will you marry me?”

Scott splutters, rounds on ‘Stiles’, unable to concentrate on working the machine, “What?”

“It’s our cover. We’re engaged. You came here first to get the house in order. I was on a business trip. But now here we are, together again, sickeningly in love,” Stiles says as he takes over and makes a coffee, slides it over to Scott. He starts the process for his own.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“You have to.”

“I can’t pretend to love somebody at the snap of your fingers.”

Stiles smirks at him, takes a sip from his own coffee - black, no sugar. “Then I’ll make you love me.”

*

Scott is initially resistant to the idea of ever viewing Stiles as a friendly acquaintance, let alone someone he could actively like and pretend to love, but Stiles has a way of getting under his skin.

Stiles makes breakfast every morning, and every morning his breakfasts are incredible. Fluffy pancakes, apple cinnamon oatmeal, pumpkin spice baked oatmeal, breakfast burritos, huevos rancheros – all freshly cooked and delicious. By the tenth day, Scott’s munching on maple turkey bacon and practically moaning with how good it is.

“Okay, I have to ask, how did you get so good at this?”

“What?”

Scott gestures at the maple turkey bacon, sweet potato hashbrowns and greek yoghurt creamed spinach. “You know what.”

“My dad’s a sheriff of a small town. He’d often do double shifts and I knew he wouldn’t eat well while on the job. I discovered six months in that he’d been ditching my packed lunches. So I’d make sure he’d get as nutritious a meal as possible in the morning, the kind of veggie-packed feast that’d keep him going for hours.”

“Smart. I’m impressed.”

Stiles shrugs. He’s either very good at acting like he loves Scott’s praise, or he lives for those moments when Scott capitulates and openly admires him.

“So you were always destined to be in law enforcement?” Scott asks.

“Maybe, but there was definitely a time when everyone else would’ve said hell no. I was the kid who always got in trouble and stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. I almost got arrested five times before I graduated high school. But I guess it was my curiosity kicking in, my need to investigate.”

“My dad’s an FBI agent,” Scott says, then rolls his eyes at himself, because of course Stiles knows this, Stiles knows almost everything there is to know about him because he read it in a file.

But, “Tell me more,” Stiles says, eyes focused and soft, in that way they can be sometimes when looking at Scott, so Scott does, tells him all about it, feels lighter with each word.

*

Their neighbors somehow buy the nearly wed thing, possibly because Stiles is handsy when they’re in public and Scott’s been so touch-starved he enjoys it. 

Scott really likes being under Stiles’ arm as they go grocery shopping, even if he can feel Stiles’ gun holster. He likes when Stiles nudges into his side to ask his opinion on cheese or the freshness of a mango, or whether they should get a particular spice mix. Because Stiles has been making breakfasts, Scott’s been making dinner, and they’re currently in a competition where everyone’s a winner.

Scott likes taking Stiles’ hand in his when they mow the lawn and weed the garden, possibly because Stiles spends half the time complaining about having to do these things. Has pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cheek when they’ve delivered misdirected mail; as a cover for whispering in his ear, but he still thinks about the blush that settled in the hollows of Stiles’ cheeks and the way his lips parted every time he looked at him the rest of that day. 

Some days they stay home and watch movies and shows. Stiles has been making Scott watch _Star Wars_ , and Scott has been pretending to be grudging about it because it’s hilarious seeing Stiles’ indignant faces. Secretly, he’s wondering how he can persuade Stiles to watch the next one without Stiles realizing that’s what he’s doing. It’s not as hard as he thinks, because Stiles seems to think he’s some kind of Girl Scout - “I’d never call you a Boy Scout because their homophobic asses can get screwed.” Scott’s been making Stiles watch different low-stakes warm-hearted competition shows like _The Great British Baking Show_ and _Making It_ , but Stiles doesn’t even try to complain, is clearly highly entertained. 

But sometimes, they go out and explore the city, because the weather’s nice and while their cover is that they work from home, no one can work every day. 

“What do you think you’ll do, when you get to go back?” Stiles asks him when they’re alone at the top of a steep hill they’ve hiked to, and gazing at the city below them, buildings looking like miniatures used on a film set.

He’s talking about Scott’s real life, the one he’ll hopefully get to return to when the trial is over and Gerard Argent, ruthless crime boss, is put behind bars for life.

“Live with my mom for a while, continue my veterinary degree, tell my friends how much I love them so often they beg me to stop. How about you?”

“I don’t usually get a say in my assignments. This is an anomaly.”

“Wait, you asked for this?”

Stiles gazes off in the distance. “I think you’re really brave, and noble, and kind, and they were contemplating placing Jackson Whittemore with you. Now, I know you only have my word for this, but he’s a whole-ass dick. So, yeah, I asked if they’d place me instead.”

“So I’d only be stuck with a half-ass dick. That’s so sweet of you,” Scott says, knocking into Stiles to lessen the cruelty of his words. Stiles laughs, knocks him back, and they hike until they find a picnic spot so they can eat. 

*

By the time they’ve been together for a month and a half and the trial is only a week away, Scott realizes he considers Stiles his best friend – not only because of proximity – but because he’s shared things with Stiles that he hasn’t shared with anyone else. Stiles is also surprisingly forthcoming in details about his life, which kind of confuses Scott, but Stiles shrugs it off. Scott hasn’t really had a chance to miss Stiles yet, but he can tell he will. 

Scott also realizes he spends too many hours every night imagining what it would be like if he and Stiles shared a bed. He extrapolates from the sounds Stiles makes when he’s eating something delicious (they’re positively pornographic), the look on his face when he’s happy (usually because he’s convinced Scott of something), and how Stiles’ body would feel against his (solid and warm and strong, because although he’s lanky he’s muscular too.) Scott ensures has long showers when Stiles is out on one of his rare Scott-less chores, brings himself some relief as he pictures Stiles beneath or above him. 

Even though several nerves in his body are screaming at him to be awkward around Stiles after this realization, the rest of him refuses. He’s grateful every time Stiles touches him, lives for those moments when Stiles sweeps him with a once-over, and when they need to show some PDA, he’s ecstatic. 

Scott’s handler comes to visit them two days before the trial is set, to go over the case details with Scott again – which is apparently something Stiles was supposed to do and simply neglected. 

Lydia is friendly, but ultra-professional, and Scott can tell there’s something between Stiles and her that Stiles hasn’t told him about. There’s an easiness there, a _knowledge_ , that goes beyond colleagues. It hurts, in a deep dark part of Scott, because although he’s heard about Stiles’ life – different cases and the people he hangs out with and things he’s thinking about doing when he has time – there’s obviously a lot he’s ignorant of. Like girlfriends. 

Lydia gets a call after an hour of debrief, comes out of the other room looking wide-eyed and even paler than before.

“I’m going to be staying here the next two days.”

“What? Why?” Stiles asks, eyes narrowed.

“Our other witness has been compromised. He was shot in the leg,” Lydia says, matter-of-factly. “We can’t take any chances.”

“I’ve protected Scott with no issues this entire time. Why do we suddenly need another agent on the job?” Stiles asks, indignation no longer amusing when it’s about a serious situation.

“Because we don’t want Scott to get hurt, or worse, killed, do we Stiles?”

“I would never let anything injure Scott, ever. He’s under my care and my protection.”

Scott doesn’t get the spikiness at all, because the way they talk shows they care deeply for each other. But maybe it’s a protective instinct thing. Scott’s not going to ask, even though he’s fairly confident Stiles would answer.

“Do you like meatloaf?” Scott asks Lydia, to diffuse the tension, to remind them he’s still there.

Lydia looks apologetic. “I’m vegetarian.”

“Scott makes the best tomato and chickpea loaf in the world,” Stiles says. At her questioning look he adds, “We’ve been doing meatless Mondays.”

That evening, Stiles and Lydia go out on the back porch to catch up and Scott begins to pack his meager belongings. Scott keeps his window open to air out his room. He didn’t know he’d be able to hear them, but he does, and even though part of him considers moving into another room, his curiosity gets the better of him. 

He listens as Lydia tells Stiles about different cases she’s worked on the side and Stiles tells her about two suspicious stalkers they’ve had that he’d never told Scott about. Stiles then tells her about the different excursions they went on and movies they watched, and Scott smiles as he remembers the instances Stiles is recounting.

“You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you?” Lydia says, teasing. 

“Oh God, Lydia, you have no idea.”

“I do. I remember what it’s like when you’re infatuated, first hand.”

“Okay, so you have all the ideas.”

“Will you tell him, when it’s all over?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I should. Scott deserves someone whose life isn’t their job.”

“Your life doesn’t have to be your job, Stiles. That’s how you’ve chosen to be.”

“Yeah, well, maybe. This is assuming he’d be remotely interested.”

Scott sits on his bed as he listens to Lydia chuckle. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. But if it is, I’ll be there for you.”

Scott sucks in several deep breaths, tries to steady his heart.

*

The trial goes for eight days and Scott’s needed for two of them. Seeing Gerard Argent again, even across a crowded courtroom, makes Scott’s blood freeze in his veins. He gives his witness statement and answers cross-examination. It goes well, for a given value of ‘well’. He only trips over his words and stammers twice, at any rate. He’s not the only eye-witness, as despite a gunshot wound in the leg, Danny testifies too. 

In the evening he, Stiles and Lydia find different routes to the safehouse and Scott tries not to mentally replay watching Argent kill three people. 

Stiles cuddles up to Scott on the couch as they watch animated movies to keep Scott’s mind off the whole thing. Scott is more than happy to lean into Stiles’ body and absorb his warmth.

Each day they wait for the other evidence to be relayed, for the jury to deliberate, for the possibility of more murder attempts. If there is another attempt, Stiles and Lydia thwart it together and don’t tell Scott, which Scott might’ve hated once upon a time, but he’s now supremely thankful for it.

The morning after a guilty verdict is rendered and Scott hears Argent is once again behind bars is one of the best mornings of Scott’s life. Lydia congratulates him, then catches a ride back to HQ because, “There’s so much paperwork, and Stiles cannot be trusted to do his fair share.” She gives Scott a small smile as he helps her put the suitcase full of clothes she bought in the trunk of the Uber, tells him to take care. 

Even though they’ve packed nearly everything up, Stiles makes Scott waffles with blueberries, syrup and cream. 

“So you were right,” Scott says, his heart drumming a persistent rhythm in his throat. 

“I meant it when I said I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.”

“No. About what you said in the beginning. When we first met,” Scott says. Stiles frowns at him, opens his mouth to interject again, but Scott gets there first. “You made me love you.”

Stiles gives him that steady, gentle look Scott’s only ever seen him use with him. “You’re saying this now, but it’s entirely possible it’s the sister-city-of-Stockholm syndrome.”

Scott exhales, long and slow. “Then we should test it out. We should date. Get to know each other outside of witness protection. Be together because we want to be." Here, Scott falters. "I mean, if you want.”

Stiles rests his chin on his hand, gazes at Scott like he hung the moon. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”


End file.
